On the subject of clothing
by Ensimismada
Summary: Rukia crosses the line while taking practical matters into her own hands. Awkwardness, humor, an unconventional bra, and general IchiRuki love ensue. Mild soul society arc spoilers.
1. On the subject of clothing

On the subject of clothing...

**Warnings**: Mild cursing, entirely on Ichigo's part. Mention of nakedness. No spoilers.

**Summary**: Rukia crosses the line while taking practical matters into her own hands. Or maybe she's just being mischievous...

Kurosaki Ichigo backed into his room, pivoting at the threshold to push the door open with his hip. He let the heel of his sock-shorn foot swing the door shut again, handle clicking softly as he turned to face the open area. He balanced on his long fingers a tray of leftovers rather too neatly arranged for a midnight snack, clutching the rim of a glass of milk in his other hand. It was late evening, and he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as he entered the room. A busy day of Hollow-hunting and test-taking had worn him out. Good thing it was Friday; maybe he could sleep in a little...

Though a stranger might have thought his gaze was stern, Ichigo was actually quite relaxed and in a mild mood. That is, he was in a mild mood until his eyes fell upon the girl in the middle of his room. She had always been very good at catching him off guard, a feat that was growing more and more difficult for the world at large as he became more alert, protective, and on-edge in his role as a shinigami, and yet also seemed to become easier and easier for her as their time working together wore on. Now, however, it was neither her child-like lack of understanding of the simplest ways of the living world nor a sharp observation of an emotion he was sure he'd hidden deep inside that rocked him. This time, it was her clothes.

Or, to be more precise, _his_ clothes. On her. She was standing in the middle of the room wearing his favorite shirt, a blue short-sleeved tee with the words "ARISTOTLE'S LANTERN" written on the front in English, blocky black and white lettering slightly jarring to the eyes in the orange street lamp light that filtered through the window.

Following him around constantly, asking stupid questions about blindingly obvious things like juice boxes, even _sleeping in his closet_ he could deal with, but wearing his clothes? Wearing his _favorite shirt_? Somewhere, Rukia had crossed the line, the unspoken line that said only he should be allowed to wear his own goddamn clothes.

Ichigo opened his mouth to sputter angrily when he suddenly realized that the shirt wasn't the end of it. She was also wearing a pair of his boxers. They hung loosely from her slender hips, peaking out under the edge of his shirt somewhere near her knees. He blushed slightly and shut his mouth, settling on a glare that he hoped was frighteningly intense as he internally flailed about for words adequate to express his shocked discomfort.

Rukia's icy purple eyes were firm, unaffected. He never was very good at goading her with his glares. "Is there a problem?" she asked coolly, folding her arms across her chest. Despite her small stature, she was formidable with her confident pose and severe face.

_You're wearing my boxers!_ was the only thought in Ichigo's mind, running over and over again like a wheel in a rut. M_y boxers! _Maybe he'd believe it after an hour or so of such repetition.

Rukia, however, was not patient enough to wait for things to finally click inside his thick skull. "You could at least knock" she observed, stern facade unbroken.

"You know I can't do that, idiot" he said sharply, relieved to grasp the less shocking topic, a topic at which he could easily snap a response. "It would look stupid if I were to knock on my own door. Anyway," he said suddenly, brushing past all that as if he had just now remembered something important, "why are you -"

Two can play at that game. "Turn on the light, at least," she cut across him.

Ichigo ignored her command and pressed on. "Rukia, why the hell are you wearing my clothes?" he asked angrily, with a hint of confused desperation seeping in. He wanted to take a stand firm right there, to finally draw the line about some part of his life where she could not go and would not fit. She was so good at blowing past every other one of his barriers.

"My school uniform keeps getting torn and stained at work." It was how they referred to Hollow-hunting when in public, when there was the possibility of eavesdroppers. "And I," here, she hesitated for a moment, and her cool gaze faltered. Glancing downward, she added, "...I didn't think it was fair to your sister that I keep ruining her clothing and having to take more.

"So," she continued, turning around lightly to face the closet, suddenly aloof, "unless you want to go shopping for a new school uniform, a girl's uniform, just shut up about it." Over her shoulder, she smiled a smile that was far from innocent as she reached to open compartment's sliding door.

Ichigo was again at a loss for words. It wasn't that she didn't have a point; constantly stealing clothes from Yuzu was unkind and was beginning to become too obvious. And where Rukia had managed to get the school's uniform, he had no idea, but he knew it was going to be difficult to find a replacement when this one became too obviously worn. He sure as hell didn't want to go shopping with her, that was for sure. But none of that justified crossing the line. It was his favorite shirt! And his boxers? That was just plain weird. He wore those – she was now – those things were - her skin was touching where -

Never mind. Ichigo shivered slightly and mounted his attack, though as the words came out of his mouth, they sounded a lot more like a desperate defense. "Rukia, that's my favorite shirt, dammit! You'll just rough up that up too if you're wearing it. What if we get an order?" he asked, exasperation coloring his explanation. "You won't have time to change and I am trying to keep at least _some_ of my clothing free of Hollow blood, in case you hadn't noticed" he added acidly.

She turned and gave him an odd, calculating look. It wasn't quite like any he'd ever seen on her before, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Hell, Rukia, you're wearing my boxers," he said, gritting his teeth, "my _underwear_." Couldn't she see the problem with this?

"Then you think I should continue to take your sister's clothing?" she asked, as if it were the dumbest idea she'd ever heard.

"Of course not!" _Why me?_ he asked silently, not for the first time since their lives had collided.

"So I should wear that uniform around all the time."

"Well, no," he said stupidly. That would be weird, too. Still, better than his clothes -

"Then you're proposing that I walk around naked?"

"WHAT?" he bellowed. "No! Just get those things off and change for now, we can buy you more clothes later. Just – just don't wear my clothes."

"Oh-ho, so you want me to take this off, then?" she asked, half-teasingly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ichigo registered that her tone had totally changed.

"That's what I've been saying the whole time!" He roared. _Finally!_ he thought, glad to have gotten through her stubborn skull at last. She could have the most annoying attitude when she -

Rukia smirked. It took Ichigo roughly two seconds to realize what he had just done.

Panic set in only a heartbeat later.


	2. Complications and Distractions

On the subject of clothing: Complications and Distractions

Rukia could see the panic settling in the lines of his face as her small hands grasped the lip of her – _his_ shirt and she began to peel it over her head. She allowed herself a small smile as the fabric passed over her eyes. She could just picture his face. He really was getting quite worked up about something so trivial, and she rather liked that panicked look to his eyes, the slight flush to his cheeks. Normally, he was stern and uptight, frowning and unmoving. Now, however, he somewhat resembled a frightened animal, wide-eyed and a bit... twitchy.

Having such control over him was exhilarating. Rukia hated to admit it, but she was in almost every other way completely powerless compared to Ichigo. His spirit pressure was intense, even daunting; she often felt she had to struggle just to keep from being overwhelmed, like she was a tired swimmer gasping for air in a strange and wild sea. He also knew everything about the modern world and she knew next to nothing. With this knowledge, Ichigo held a certain power over her, as she was nearly helpless when faced with a problem of modern technology. Often, she would have to sit and wait until he explained or did it for her. (His explanations were invariably longer and more boring than necessary, so much so that afterward she would be forced to show him how he could have explained it much better, with a diagram.)

But there was to be no waiting for him or his explanations today. Tasting that rare bit of control over Ichigo, Rukia reached down and, as casually as she could, began to remove his shirt. He stood there, mouth flapping and gasping like a washed-up fish, unmoving in the middle of the room and still holding her dinner and milk in rigid hands. She could have predicted his reaction down to every sweat drop; he was so naïve underneath that "tough man" exterior, completely inexperienced. While Rukia had not exactly lived a sheltered afterlife, she was fairly inexperienced with this, too. It was best to take these things slowly, she figured, best to savor them. She certainly savored Ichigo's boyish discomfort.

Her luxurious pace afforded Ichigo the time to stutter awkwardly, "What are you doing?" before he turned automatically to face the door, quickly averting his gaze. Better safe than sorry.

"Exactly what you asked," she responded, enjoying herself immensely.

Either he didn't understand the implications of her response or his mind was still in shock, because his voice sounded dazed as it floated over his turned back. "Good, because for a second there it looked like you were about to take off my shirt right there in front of me - "

Rukia's mischievous chuckle was abruptly interrupted by an urgent beeping noise that emanated from somewhere on her body. Ichigo immediately tensed into an alert stance, his hands tightening their grip and his spirit aura flaring palpably. He began to spin around to face her, swearing under his breath.

Rukia had already pulled on her red glove. _Where **does** she hide that thing?_ Ichigo wondered vaguely as he caught a glance of the skull logo out of the corner of his eye before she slammed her palm into the back of his head a bit harder than was necessary. He flew away from his collapsing body as a gamut of familiar sensations washed over him. There was an easy, unrestrained feeling to his movements, almost of weightlessness, and he suddenly felt quite confident that he could handle anything that got in his way. Though he never let it show, Ichigo enjoyed his time as a shinigami, enjoyed this freedom and power. It gave him the ability to protect people, to finally be able to fight against the cruel world to which he, his family, and his friends were subject.

CRASH! The tray of food and the glass he had been holding spilled their contents across his bedroom floor as his now lifeless body fell to the ground, landing face-first in a pile of milky rice. _Shit. _He'd forgotten about that. This was a cruel world, indeed. Well, that would just be another thing to tend to after dealing with the Hollow-

- _like getting Rukia some proper clothing._ Ichigo opted to continue ignoring the working part of his brain, instead using the momentum of Rukia's push to turn to face his bedroom window. He braced one arm against the sill and cradled the small of his back with the other, preparing himself for Rukia's familiar weight to land lightly at his shoulders. Despite all appearances, this was an everyday setup, and the pair routinely worked together smoothly and flawlessly. Indeed, even in the beginning, they had synced with nearly miraculously rapidity, falling into a rhythm of fighting, working, and simply _living_ side by side. There was nothing either could do about their situation; fate had forced them together and continued to thrust them into danger together time and time again. And yet, it was a comfortable cooperation so perfect that neither consciously noticed their dovetailing behaviors, behaviors like the way his gaze automatically fell to her height or the way she tracked his movements out of the corner of her eye when they were in public. Or like the way they played into each others' arguments every time, bickering for no good reason and not really caring about it, either. Though neither Ichigo nor Rukia realized that they felt as if this was the way things were meant to be, they had both all too clearly felt the pain of each others' absence in the past. Upon Rukia's return, they fell back into their familiar pattern like they were coming home again. Everything was renewed, from the childish squabbling to the smooth teamwork. It was like the old times, except now they had each made a silent pact to themselves to never let the other down, to never leave the other again.

Except maybe for right now. Rukia left Ichigo hanging, head bowed as he hunched over awkwardly at the window. He stood there for a second, unmoving, waiting for her. The second stretched on, but still he did not hear her jump smoothly onto his back or feel her weight settling on him. He maintained his position expectantly, growing impatient.

The cell phone rang again, clear chime piercing the silence. What the hell was she doing, waiting for an engraved invitation? Ichigo's mind raced furiously.

_Ms. Kuchiki Rukia is cordially invited to:_

"_tag along as Ichigo bashes in the brains of some stupid Hollow."_

The beeping had already died off. Still no movement from Rukia.

_Place: nearby_.

Normally, she was even more anxious than he to get to the Hollows. Something was seriously wrong with that girl tonight. Not that there wasn't always something seriously wrong with her.

_Time: right now. _

Ichigo's forehead knotted angrily; if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was waiting helplessly on the sidelines.

_Mode of transportation: Ichigo-taxi_

Ichigo snapped. "Argh! Enough already! Rukia, what the hell are you waiting for!" He roared as he spun around to face her. "We've got to go get that Holl-"

"-ow..." the last syllable died on his lips as he gaped at her, wide-eyed. She hadn't moved from her spot. The closet door stood half-open, forgotten. In her left hand, limply positioned at her side, she held the communication device. Its front panel was flashing blue moodily but they didn't seem to notice. In her still-gloved right hand, held to her chest, she clutched his shirt possessively.

No one ever claimed that Kurosaki Ichigo was quick on the uptake, but even fewer were willing to get into a fight with him to assert quite the opposite, either. Right now, he settled for the middle ground between rapid response and slow, well-rationalized thought: rapidly expressing a few poorly rationalized thoughts.

"Gu- gu-", for example.

Also, tried to point at her as if to emphasize his very urgent conclusion, but wound up simply waving his arm around in her general direction, flinging his other hand across his face to shield his eyes from her starkly bare figure.

Rukia glared at Ichigo, who, for at least the third time this evening, was struck by the need to sputter incoherently at her. _Really_, she sighed mentally, it wasn't as if she were _naked_.

Finally, something clicked. "Gah! Put that thing back on! You're not supposed to change in front of me!" He yelled, panting as if he had just exerted himself extremely hard. Living with her was surely enough to drive him completely insane.

Ichigo again turned to face the wall, tapping his foot impatiently. They had a Hollow to go kill and here she was stripping down to – what was that thing she'd been wearing, anyway? A mental image bubbled up inside him, recalling exactly what he had just seen. Rukia was wearing some kind of wrapping. A bandage? No, she was completely uninjured. Besides, the way she was wearing those strips of fabric made him think of something else entirely. It was like one of those undergarment wraps from the Samurai period. Exactly like that.

Which effectively meant that Ichigo had just seen Rukia her bra. Her bra and his boxers. The room seemed to grow quite warm all of a sudden. Ichigo broke out into a nervous sweat; his uniform, normally so free, felt tight and restrictive. His breathing became shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to force out the reality of his memory, but all he could picture was Rukia, standing in his darkened room, wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers and a tight wrapping that clearly defined the outline of her body. Rukia, bound by long strips of fabric...

Despite his natural tendency toward modesty, it was not the first time Ichigo had seen something of the sort. He was a teenage guy living in the age of computer technology, after all. He'd seen a woman naked. Yoruichi, for example.

Oh, god, not that. Now Ichigo began to feel truly uncomfortable as he remembered the naked, dark-skinned woman standing boldly before him, as casual as if she were buying a pint of strawberries at the market. The way she looked all wet in the steam of the hot spring, or when she sat in front of him cross-legged. Strangely, as the images blurred through the mounting panic of his muddled brain, Ichigo realized that it wasn't Yoruichi he was picturing. _Hell, it's hot in here._ Instead, his mind was, ah... replacing... Yoruichi with -

Rukia coughed lightly. "Are we going or not?" she asked irritably.

"Ah... right" Ichigo managed, staring intently at some point over and to the left of her now-clothed shoulder. Rukia arched an eyebrow at him slightly; she had been expecting more of his usual banter.

"Are you going to open the window?" she suggested sternly when he still did not move.

"Ah... right" was all he said. _She's wearing clothes again. Just get your mind on the Hollow-hunting. No remembering what she looked like. _He slid open the window with a strong hand, a hand that could just as easily -

A rush of cold air billowed in Ichigo's face, knocking him out of his reverie. He shook himself, slightly appalled and still more frightened that he could possibly be thinking of Rukia in that way. _Hell, why did she have to go and start with my favorite shirt?_

"Ichigo!" Rukia called and he again realized he had been daydreaming. "Your hands?"

"What? Oh...right" Apparently, he had been idly fingering the white fabric bow tied about his waist.

"Do you expect me to just jump on your back if you're not going to catch me?" she snapped from behind him.

"I'll always be here to catch you, Rukia" Ichigo whispered instantly, without realizing what he was saying until the words were already out of his mouth. His voice was calm, confident, but his back stiffened after a few seconds of silence.

Rukia stared at his back as he positioned his hand to catch her. Somehow, tonight was different. She had been teasing him earlier, deciding to wear his shirt on a whim (she had discovered it folded neatly in the top of the closet). But now, looking at his back as he waited patiently, she realized that her previous actions had said more than she had meant them to, had spoken of a longing she had not recognized she had. And, by opening up to her just now, Ichigo was offering more of an invitation than either of them realized. This time, clamoring on to his back would mean more than just agreeing to go slay a Hollow.

Ichigo's palm grew sweaty as he waited for her. The thought of her pressing herself against his back, grasping his strong shoulders with her small hands and lightly breathing directions into his ear as he jumped from housetop to housetop was strangely stimulating. His body seemed to remember in the finest detail all the times they had done this before, but he was now remembering it in completely different light. So many possibilities... He wasn't quite sure what would happen when she climbed on this time.

But there was a Hollow out there, not waiting on his petty discomfort. Even if he had to fight through his raging hormones first, Ichigo was determined to protect innocent souls. Whatever happened when Rukia jumped on him, whatever new complications to their relationship were coming, well, he would just deal with them as they came. They had a job to do.

"Let's go, Rukia," Ichigo murmured, "let's do this."


	3. A happy ending

On the subject of clothing: A happy ending (Gravity made me do it)

Ichigo again stood facing the window, ready to receive Rukia, but her resolve wavered. _What is going on with me?_ she chided herself. _You've done this all before. You've got to get to work._ Yet Ichigo's broad back and finely-chiseled hand, though only meters away and easily within her leaping distance, suddenly seemed kilometers away. As far apart as life and death.

Rukia did not move. She pondered his invitation and its myriad meanings. He would always be there to catch her... A pang of longing welled up in her chest, sullied only slightly by regret. "Ichigo..." she murmured, breath hardly reaching past her own lips.

A single, pleasant chirp cut through the air, seizing the moment. Rukia's decision was now unnecessary; the cell phone was alerting the pair that the situation had been resolved. Ishida or Orihime or Sado had dispatched of the Hollow while they were arguing.

Ichigo stood up straight, still facing the open window. The light breeze played with the tips of his hair. It was late autumn, now. More than three months had gone by since he had come to save her. Rukia continued to stare at him, trying to read emotions in his motionless back. She wondered what he saw out there in the darkness. She wondered what he hoped to find. She could see no more of him than bright hair and folds of draped black fabric, and yet somehow the staunch, confident silence of it all seemed to ridicule her. She had been so childish, teasing him about his favorite shirt. They were partners, that was all. No matter how much she had enjoyed that brief, unorthodox moment, he was right: she shouldn't let anything interfere with work. She couldn't afford to let her guard down with Hollows appearing more and more frequently.

"We should go make sure they're not injured" he said after a silent moment of gazing out the window, low voice monotone. It was unlikely; Orihime and Ishida were both too smart to get involved in a fight at a disadvantage, and Chad's steely body could shrug off all but the most grave injuries. However, there was always a possibility they were hurt. Ichigo wasn't the kind of guy to not check up on his friends when there was even a chance of danger.

"Aa," she agreed evenly, taking a hesitant step toward him.

"But first," - he still would not face her - "you have to change."

This again? Perhaps that crazy father of his _had_ addled his brains as a child. "Idiot," she responded immediately, "Blood won't stain your precious shirt if the Hollow's already been defeated!"

"No, Rukia, don't you be stupid: you can't go outside in my clothes! _Especially_ not in my boxers! What if somebody sees you? They'll recognize my shirt on you and they'll think – they'll think," he was suddenly caught up in a mild fit of coughing.

Rukia thought this was a lot fuss for nothing. It was mildly amusing, the way his cheeks were shot with crimson and his voice was unsteady, but really, what was the big deal was about these "boxers" things? They seemed like regular shorts to her, but softer, without pockets, and with a funny set of attachment mechanisms in the front. Snaps, she thought they were called. _Boxers are comfortable,_ she mused, even if they were too big and threatened to slide off her lithe hips with any unexpected movement.

"What will they think?" she asked teasingly, more amused than anything. He had turned to face her when had spoken, trying to be grim but losing his harsh look as his words faded away into coughs and a blush.

Now, he had recovered. "Nothing. They won't think anything because you won't be going out in those clothes," he said with an air of finality. "Just change already. _In the closet_," he added quickly as she again reached for the lower lip of the shirt. For good measure, he sat down heavily in the chair at his desk, crossing his arms and staring fixedly at his alarm clock. The red numbers stared back, glowing indifferently. If this was going to be a staring contest, the inanimate object would most likely to win. However, Ichigo seemed determined to give it a run for its money, brows furrowed intently. The evening breeze continued to drift in through the window.

Oh, screw it. He stood up again after a moment and began to angrily pace a small swath of carpet along the edge of his bed, eyes on his feet. He was so busy trying to force unwelcome - but quite interesting - images out of his mind that he had not noticed she had yet to leave.

"Can't you make up your mind?" Rukia snapped angrily. She was annoyed, but not exactly at him. She couldn't figure out why she had actually obliged his earlier request that she take off the shirt. It had been obvious he did not mean for her to do it then and there. _Why did he have to go and start by baiting me like that?_ she thought angrily ... _and why did I have to fall for it?_ Stripping just to spite him, to manipulate his emotions, no longer seemed the adequate explanation it had been at the time. It was beneath her as a member of the Kuchiki clan, honorary or no. Yet, she had been so damn giddy about his slipped-up invitation. "Do you want me to wear it or not?" she blurted. Her hand flew to her lips in surprise. Did she just say that out loud?

Ichigo froze in mid-turn, gulping at the unexpected question. Did she just say that out loud? An equally unexpected, totally ridiculous answer roared within him. _Just because you saw her in her bra-wrap thing,_ he chided himself, _does not make thoughts like that okay. _He tried to push back the startling images his brain continued to create unbidden, but each was replaced by something even more scandalous. He mumbled an incoherent response, his eyes now glued on the mess of food on the floor between them. Neither of them was making any move to clean it up, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He somehow knew that even a glance of her pale, smooth skin, her intense violet eyes, or her dark hair, with the peculiar lock that always fell in a graceful curve across her face, would send the monster within him, newly awoken by having seen her so scantily clad, into a flying rampage that he was not sure he could quench. Even stubborn Ichigo could only disobey his hormonal drives for so long, and he definitely was not immune to certain... side effects that Rukia's previous actions had had on him. So, instead of meeting her hard look, he watched his uninhabited body with unprecedented interest.

He shifted uncomfortably. _It's bad enough that I have a Hollow inside my head; now I have to have a demon inside my pants as well? _Ichigo thought bitterly, unable to erase the burning memory of Rukia standing before him in his boxers and a bra. She _is_ beautiful, his mind murmured. The demon could only agree.

"Ichigo!" Rukia scolded sharply, "I'm tired of you not looking at me and not answering me when I'm addressing you."

"I can look wherever I want." He said it in his most offhand manner, the way he knew infuriated her. Maybe irritating her would distract him from his own discomfort. Maintaining a steady gaze on his body, he realized that he had never seen his own butt from that angle before...

Ichigo did not see Rukia narrow her eyes in a distinctly dangerous expression. He did not register her movements. He only saw her ankles sway briefly as she shifted her weight.

"Hmm..." she said in her most awful, artificial saccharine voice as she worked, "whatever shall I do with this? I know! Perhaps Kon will have a good idea."

Ichigo's mind was jerked away from its daydreaming. Kon never had good ideas. Ever.

"Rukia, what the hell are you talking abou- Gah!"

She was shirtless again, but she did not appear meek and startled like before, when she had been thrown off balance by the sudden orders for the Hollow. Now, she was ready for him. She swung his shirt around on the tip of her finger idly, right hand planted confidently on her hip and eyes wide in her best impression of innocence. "What's the matter, Kurosaki-kun? Are you alright?" she trilled.

"Dammit all, Rukia!" He was pissed at her for startling him with that move _again_. However, the novelty was beginning to wear off as anger took over. He stretched out his hand. "If you want to strip down like a floozy, that's fine with me. Just do it somewhere else and give me the goddamn shirt."

"Why don't you come and get it?" There was that mischievous gleam in her eyes again. Man, she sure was being weird tonight...

"Oh, please," he said, feigning a lack of interest. Really, his interest was climbing to a peak. For parts of him, anyhow. "Such childish words won't tempt me."

_Though something about your body does the trick nicely_, he couldn't help but think. At this point, Ichigo had given in to the idea that Rukia aroused him. He had no willpower left to fight it. Finding other things to think about was too exhausting to feign any longer, especially when he knew she was standing there in front of him, beautifully close to nakedness, bound up neatly by that bandage-bra and wearing boxers that looked like they were about to fall off of their own volition. He could not get the image out of his mind.

"Oh, that's right, I _forgot_: We all know Ichigo has to use bankai just to be fast enough to play with the big boys; he'd never be fast enough to catch me" she taunted, snatching his shirt away as he made an awkward grab for it, sparked into action by her infuriating words. "Now, now. That just won't do, will it?"

"Rukia, dammit. Just give me the shirt!"

"No... I think Kon will have much better uses for it. Maybe I'll go sneak into your sisters' room and get him right now..." She began to saunter past the mess on the floor and toward the door, smirking at him over her shoulder. Ichigo's mind was swamped by horrible thoughts of his sisters waking up to find Rukia in their room, stealing their toys and wearing his clothes. He froze in his tracks momentarily, shivering at the thought. Oh, god – what if they screamed and his father came in? No matter how good an explanation they managed to come up with, there would be no end to the nudges and winking over breakfast, there would be constant prompting to invite his "girlfriend" over for another, more formal, evening over. In short, his life would be over. He might as well be dead if his family meet Rukia that way.

With such desperate thoughts racing through his mind, Ichigo reacted with his own desperate response. It was swift, smooth, sudden, and without mercy.

He tackled Rukia from behind.

That had been the plan, anyhow, if one can call Ichigo's two seconds' worth of frustrated scheming a plan. The problem was, his body had something different to say about the idea. As he launched himself toward the mischievous girl, the toes of his right foot caught between the crook of his elbow and the side of actual, currently uninhabited body on the floor.

In the same instant, Rukia twirled around, intent on planting her feet wide in a victory stance and showing him her most triumphant, sparkling face. She would demand that they leave the house now, with her wearing whatever she wished.

Ichigo pitched forward. His arms were flailing, grabbing at midair. His leap had enough momentum to carry him halfway to Rukia. She was halfway through stepping backward.

The next second seemed to play in slow-motion.

Ichigo's hand contacted the side of Rukia's leg just at the edge of the boxers. His fingers curled around the fabric instinctively as he tried to catch himself, thrusting his other hand forward between his face and the carpet. He had landed awkwardly, with one knee on ribcage of his body and the other burrowing into the small of its back.

The knee of Rukia's other leg made contact with the unexpectedly harder-than-air surface of Ichigo's forehead and Rukia lost her balance. Hoping to check the wild swing of her body, she rammed her hand downward on the top of his head just as he managed to brace his palm, fingers spread, against the carpet.

For the slightest fraction of a second, they pair was motionless, breathing heavily. Ichigo stared down at the carpet, his ears roughly level with the knee of Rukia's contorted leg.

Then Ichigo's knee slid off the side of his body, causing his braced arm to buckle. Rukia locked her grip on his hair, lurching backward. Ichigo cursed and tried to twist away, but his foot was still tangled up with his body.

Ichigo's hand slid down and Rukia's leg pulled back. The boxers were rapidly descending and Rukia threw all her effort into grabbing them before a Very Bad Thing happened. When Ichigo realized what was happening, he tried to leap backward. Unable to twist his spine any further, he could only endeavor to again brace himself on the floor, pushing away from her thigh and descending panties with is other hand.

Rukia managed to grab the upper lip of the shorts between her thumb and two fingers, but was not expecting to be pushed. She toppled forward as Ichigo finally let go of her leg, mid-way through rolling to his side, shaking his entangled feet free of his unconscious body's arms.

In an instant, Rukia had fallen on top of Ichigo. The cell phone flew from her hand and landed with a soft thud in the corner of the room, lit with the calm green of "all clear." Just this one time, Chad, Orihime, and Ishida could be allowed to take care of themselves. Her other hand clutched at her hip, pinning his shirt and the corner of his boxers to her side.

Ichigo registered the situation in waves. He was flattened into a very awkward position on his side, one hand trapped between their perpendicular bodies and the other curled beneath him. Most of the weight was on this arm, as she had landed with her shoulder on his upper chest. His legs were roughly crossed, one still caught up with his body somehow. He couldn't be sure of what exactly was holding him; it was dark in the room and he was dazed from what felt like a knee blow to his forehead. His scalp hurt from where Rukia had yanked on his hair.

Wait a minute, _Rukia was lying on top of him!_

He scrambled backward, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor as she simultaneously shoved his shoulders away. Nearly simultaneously. She was a split second late in her timing, and, with his legs finally jerking free, they merely managed to realign themselves, neatly flipping Ichigo over in the process. Ichigo's left shoulder pinned Rukia's right side to the floor. Quickly pushing himself up on one hand and the opposite knee, Ichigo arched his back, staring downward. He paused.

Ichigo had been near Rukia on many occasions, but this was the first time that they weren't standing up, fighting, or trying to fit on the packed train. She had certainly never been underneath him before. _Dammit, why does she have to be so small?_ Had the light been on, her body would have been almost lost under the shadow of his. From this close, he could see she that the fine hairs on her arms were raised on little mounds, possibly because she was startled, possibly because cool air continued to flow into the room, floating over their nearly-touching bodies. She smelled faintly of the earth after a light spring rain, or perhaps like the woods right before it snowed. He could hear her shallow breathing.

Rukia could feel the fabric of Ichigo's top brush the bare skin above her collarbone lightly as he breathed in and out, the folds falling across her chest. The front panel was nearly open to her at this angle; she could see the smallest amount of his muscular chest before the rest of the expanse disappeared into the dark cavity of his clothing. His skin was smooth and glistened with the slightest sheen of sweat.

Ichigo started. She was staring down his shirt. Isn't that a little backward? _I suppose not, seeing as she's no longer even wearing a shirt_. He grimaced to be reminded of that fact. Poised as he was, he was practically straddling her small frame. He would have never imaged himself in this situation with anyone, nonetheless Rukia! It was embarrassing and compromising and if he had any sense, he'd get up straight away before she kneed him again, this time in a very sensitive, currently extremely unprotected area.

But Rukia's face betrayed not the slightest intention of lashing out, or even of moving. Instead, her deep eyes gazed up at him with a sort of wonderment; their softened glaze reflected no hint of mocking, no mischievousness, and no fear. She suddenly seemed very young. Ichigo was overwhelmed with the urge to protect that innocence, forever. Her eyes were so different, so clear, when filled with trust.

For a still moment, neither figure moved, drinking in the forbidden closeness. Ichigo was the first to stir, slowly becoming more and more tense as nervous thoughts began to flit through his mind. Things had gone further than either of them expected, and his shifting of weight seemed to snap them both into an acute awareness of the awkward position. They backed away from each other, rapidly, automatically, severing the intimate connection that had been cemented through proximity.

Rukia began to busy herself by kneeling on the floor, attempting to clean up the mess of her dinner and mumbling something about being hungry. Ichigo bent to help her by lifting his body into a sitting position against a nearby wall. "Che" he muttered as he wiped food off his forehead. Once satisfied and without turning to look at Rukia, he leaned into the lifeless form, feeling a slight, familiar tingling as he realigned with himself. He stood, brushed his hands on his thighs lightly, and retrieved the trash can from under his desk.

As Ichigo and Rukia worked side by side, their movements were stiff, deliberate. They were careful not to look each other in the eye, not to let their hands brush as they worked. Neither was sure they could handle any more closeness just then, without things really getting out of hand. Ichigo pondered the night's events and the feelings it had stirred in him. She had stepped even deeper into his heart before either of them had realized it. He wondered what had triggered it all. He stood to survey their work. As his gaze fell upon a dark lump at Rukia's side, he remembered that it had begun with an unspoken rule. He smiled despite himself. So much for drawing a line she couldn't cross.

"Next time," he said, snatching away his precious shirt to then carefully fold it, continuing to avoid her glance, "just ask me before wearing my clothes.

"And, on second thought, ask me before taking them off, too."


End file.
